SNAKE eats GOD;
GOD kills SNAKE; SLOW ROTTING POISON FROM INSIDE THE BELLY OF THE BEAST
GOD LAUGHS WHEN THE SNAKE DIES
THE ANIMAL WAS ONLY HUNGRY
AND GOD ALWAYS LOOKS DELICIOUS.

---

He marched as a soldier would, with a false sense of self-purpose and a blind faith in the banner he carried in his calloused hands. He had been given orders, his mass turned in one direction and sent forth like a plague. He was to consume anything worth eating, suck it in and soil it (make it theirs). He was not alone, of course, but his company was even more peculiar than usual. At his flank strode a small man, His dark collar framing His pale face. Ripley had deigned to join him, blessing their journey with the presence of the Father Himself. Odyssey had never cared for the frivolities of hierarchy. Order was a farce. Government a bother. But Ripley was mysterious, something other. Truly Godlike? Haha, weren't they all? Odyssey giggled, his jaw chattering.

They had descended into the night with a divine purpose, swallowed up in the darkness by black, black teeth. His tongue rolled in his mouth like a serpent, a swollen worm, a dark blur between his off-color canines. He salivated, gushed. Martin had promised so much, had assured the Titan that there would be much to find beyond the the reaches of the zealot town that had become some bizarre sense of home. He was a Champion, Martin proclaimed, and the Champion would be the spear that the whole of the kingdom thrust into the world. He was to be all sharp edges, glittering steel in the Father's palm. It was so easy to be wooed by such a purpose, for they all cheered for blood in healthy doses (what would they scream for otherwise?).

Odyssey was not a creature of pause, of consideration, of patience. Unsatisfied. There was always a desire for more, for something beyond what had become mundane. The desire dwelled. It beckoned beneath the surface. It lapped at his heels, coaxing him and teasing him. Want was the only God that he truly pursued, no matter how much of a thespian he could be for his beloved Sun. There was no God but the wretchedness of this world, of the piggish nature of man. God was in the squealing and the bleating of pure chaos. A shapeless hunger. Odyssey coveted it, the gluttonous act of spreading himself across this earth like famine. He wished to Absorb. So, as Martin had demanded, he went. He committed himself to Ripley's leash - itching, vibrating with excitement.

It was almost childlike, gleeful. As they walked he could not help but trill and wheeze and rumble with eagerness. Marvolo had been teaching him Godtongue, the scripture that her Holy Brother had instructed her in. Her soft voice whispered in his ears and he could not help but recite, his shrill voice a herald of their coming. "The time has come! The day is near! There is panic, not joy, on the mountains," he cawed, his legs crossing precariously in front of each other as he took each dancing step. His massive body wound itself around Ripley, oozing in His wake with a fluid abandon. He continued in a strange sing-song, Marvolo's voice in his foul mouth as he continued. "I am about to pour out my wrath on you and spend my anger against you!"

Their travels took them east, deeper into foreign territory and onto unfamiliar ground. There was no hesitation, though, and as the terrain grew muggier and the ground softer Odyssey could feel his heart drum powerfully under his breast. His round, inverted eyes flashed to Ripley, watching Him as a sharp smile carved itself into the flesh of his face. They were close. As if to welcome them, the earth began to give way to gnarled, tall roots woven into the wet ground and paving their way. It was fertile here, vibrant and ripe with life. This was their destination, surely. This was the goal. A distinct, harsh scent wafted into Odyssey's nostrils, making him keen in delight. "Here here here, I smell them," he hissed. They had found the border, the foul mark of someone else's scent. This was who they would topple.

The swamp was glorious. Late evening light shown through the thin trees and cast a shimmer over the dark water. His wide paws sunk into the supple earth, grime coating his legs before long. He adored it, the sticky, wet cling of the land to his skin. He soaked into it, wading out into shallow water. One always was called back to the mud, the muck, the mire from which they had all come. Slip into the pit. Get dirty. Stay dirty.

His steps displaced the loose debris and dirt of the riverbed, the disturbance spreading through the water like an oil slick. He was alien to this place. Invasive. Martin had told him to conquer, by the grace of God. Then, by the grace of God, he would conquer. The Titan tilted his head back, his cavernous mouth hanging open with unnaturally fluid force, as if a hinge had come loose. "I will judge you according to your conduct and repay you for all your detestable practices," he squealed, shrill and grating, to call out to those that would resist the weapon of God here to bend their knees. "I will not look on you with pity; I will not spare you!"

Let them come. There would be no resistance, no viable escape. Saliva dripped from Odyssey's abysmal maw, his teeth gleaming as his worm tongue lashed like a lure. Laughter bubbled up in his stomach like a gas, burning the back of his throat as bile. "Disaster! Unheard of disaster! See, it comes! IT COMES IT COMES!" So sayeth the Sun. So Sayeth the Spirit. So Sayeth the Father.

Borogrove came to destroy and remake in its own image. Odyssey would strike upon the people as a hammer, a tool at the behest of a flick of the Father's wrist. Borogrove had arrived and with it came an end.

( for Tedward, Papa and BR. this is Borogrove's expansion plot. )

She had smelled them on the Autumn air.

Strangers. Intruders. A threat. They had left their blatant signals, a week or so ago. Scent trails, fouling their borders and dampening their bushes with their foreign, pungent scent. And now, they were back. The Swamp Queen lifted her head from her paws, wet nose tasting the air, for the bitter scent of dog. The smell made her throat dry with disgust, tongue lolling out of her mouth to swipe over her back lips and protuding swords that were her upper canines. The muscular form rose to its feet, and she took a moment to shake herself out, the vast dark mane adorning her neck swaying with the motion. She turned her head to her mate.

"Laveaux," she hissed, voice thick with her territory's accent. The clan was rousing among them, eyes nervous and muscles tense. They had heard the calls, smelled the scents. Mothers held their cubs close, herding them towards warm chests with enormous paws. Warriors growled, upper lips curling and hackles raising. No. A King and Queen would protect their country. This adversary pack had not sent an army, but instead champions. In return, she sent herself.

The great cat strode forward, through the murk and mire that was hers, and hers alone. This was her country. Toes splayed across the mud, carrying her enormous form forward. She did not hail the strangers. She did not address them. Instead, her level pace turned into a hungry canter, and from a canter to a thundering gallop. Her stride was long and her steps were heavy, splattering mud in her wake and practically quaking the ground she claimed with her bound. She launched at the largest of the two, the galaxy-patterened brute. He was almost as large as her in size: Laveaux would be better suited to the albino wild dog.

Mouth wide with a gape far larger than any canine's, the sabres drew from their dark prison and a roar resonated from her chest. She landed on her forepaws, which took the brunt of her considerable weight, before pushing off once more from her hind-legs. This time, her paws did not extend to land another stride, but instead lifted into a lofty rear. Eight thick claws unsheathed, rending the air before her as she aimed to bring them down onto the fringe dire's head.

It had begun.  

Laveaux wasn't usually one for a fight. She prefered to view others, learn their secrets, then exploit them to her benefit. Being sly was far more her game, leaving the dirty work to Rev, the darker side of her that was more suited to bloodshed. But for now she would not call upon him. Her mate approached but it only took the sound of her own name to realize what was needed of her. They were going to face the threat for the pride, to reclaim the swamp that they had claimed. Her beautiful swamp queen was more than enough reason to fight and Laveaux kept pace with the larger female.

Rev's tendencies for dominance earned him the rank of king and Laveaux never disputed it. Nergal however, was a queen down to her very bones and nothing could convince her mate otherwise. The problem was, this queen was also a warroir who didn't fear a battle and would much sooner draw her fangs across an enemie's flesh than to talk it out and negotiate. As they quickened their pace something occurred to Laveaux.... she was useless here. Rev was more suited for this and she could almost hear him chuckling in some deep recess of her ears. Now she was changing. She shook out her fur, as if shaking away all of her desire to talk with their enemies and be diplomatic. She was becoming more in touch with her body, feeling every muscle as they trotted along. A smirk grew across her face and it's malicious nature spread it wider as she allowed Rev to take over.

Paws fell heavier now, pounding in time with Nergal's as Rev took his place beside his queen. It to longer mattered that he was smaller than her, he was ready to die for her; for their pride. His queen lunged at one of the intruders without a word and Rev laughed deeply at her passion, her fury, as he followed suit, aiming to barrel full force into the smaller white dog. If he had his way, he would walk back to the pride wearing it's entrails as a necklace for all to see. Internally he prayed to the dark loa and hoped they'd grant him victory...